Infernal Contraptions
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Sequel to Brand New Rollerskates. The rollerskates make it to Crawley House and madness ensues. Contains mad Isobel, Isobel-shipping and the Crawley-Hughes friendship-ship.


**Featuring much madness, a slightly mad Isobel, flirting, Isobel-shipping, Elsie/Isobel friendship-shipping, and withering remarks from Violet. And rollerskates. Some people did say that they'd like me to write some more Isobel- though I confess I doubt that this was what you had in mind. A sequel to _Brand New Rollerskates_; the silliness has spread all over Downton.**

**Infernal Contraptions**

"Are you quite sure you should be doing this?" Matthew asked, eyeing Sybil warily as she emerged through the sitting room's French doors onto the patio. Balanced rather precariously on the infernal contraptions she had on her feet, she held onto his mother's hand to keep herself upright.

"Of course," she assured him, "Besides, should I fall, there is fully competent nurse in the vicinity."

"And I have Molesley waiting on tenterhooks to fetch Dr Clarkson if necessary," his Mother added, though by her tone he doubted very much that she was entirely serious, "Fear not Matthew, we have the matter in hand."

Still not convinced, Matthew sat down on the bench by the wall.

"I'm just not sure why you've chosen to come and risk life and limb in our garden," he told Sybil, "I should feel dreadfully responsible if you were to damage yourself in some way."

"Oh, Matthew dear, you are gallant," his mother told him, "But you forget, Sybil's already had a go at this," she indicated to the rollerskates on her young cousin's feet, "She had a spin round the kitchens when they arrived."

"And I can't practice in their all of the time," Sybil continued for her, "It would put Mrs Patmore to great inconvenience. Mama as good as forbade me to try it on any of our wooden floors, and I know that Mrs Hughes would certainly catch me if I tried to practice on the sly. So Cousin Isobel was good enough to offer me your patio."

"I don't mind," his Mother told her, "I think it's wonderful that you youngsters have such lively interests!"

Here she looked rather pointedly at Matthew.

"Don't even think about it, Mother," he told her, "I'm reluctant enough to allow this madness to go on in our garden, I'm certainly not going to have a go myself. My bicycle does well enough for me."

"Well, get up, then," his Mother told him, "We need you- gallant individual that you are- at the other end of the patio to catch her."

Sighing a little- he would surely have thought his mother would have had more reservations about this than she apparently did- he did as he was told. If they would not listen to him, he could at least minimise the damage. Sybil was still holding tightly onto his mother's hand.

"Ready?" she asked him.

She meant business; she had an unmistakeable glint in her eye. Seeing her beside his mother, it was very difficult to believe that they weren't actually blood relatives. He nodded rather grimly.

"As I'll ever be."

"Right, give me a push please, Cousin Isobel."

A number of unfortunate things then happened in quick succession. The first did not so much happen as the three of them realised it simultaneously: their patio; elevated about four feet above the rest of the garden was on a slope. The second was that the push, supplied by his mother, was far more forceful and exuberant than he could have guessed a woman of her age could have produced. The third was that Sybil did not seem to realise just how quickly she was travelling- or how far forward she was leaning- until she was in mid air and falling of the patio onto the garden below. Given all of these factors, and that he thought he heard one of her feet catch on the steps as she went down, it was not surprising that she landed flat on her face.

Both he and his mother stood momentarily frozen, she with her hands clapped over her mouth in surprise, on the patio. Then, there was a low groan from the garden and he came to his senses; jumping down to see how badly Sybil was hurt.

Above him he heard his mother come back to life and real time as well:

"Molesley!" she called, "You remember when I was joking about sending for Dr Clarkson?"

…**...**

"Well," the doctor stood up from examining Sybil's ankle, "It's nothing that will bother you permanently, m'Lady. Twisted ankle. Just take things easy for the next few days, and it should feel much better. Ask Mrs Hughes to give you something for the pain if it bothers you too much. And stay off those," he pointed rather accusingly at the rollerskates beside Matthew, "For a month at least."

Dr Clarkson looked towards Isobel, and she lead him out into the corridor. As they left, she heard Sybil say something to Matthew to the effect of that if she did go and see Mrs Hughes after this, she was more likely to get a telling off than anything else.

"What was she doing?" Dr Clarkson wanted to know, sorting out his medical bag at the table in the corridor.

"She was roller-skating," Isobel told him, "In my garden."

"I should hope she was," he replied, "Otherwise, I'd want to know how she came to have a pair of rollerskates on her feet when she fell. What I mean is, why was she roller-skating?"

To that, Isobel could not honestly give and accurate answer.

"The whims of youth?" she conjectured, "I couldn't tell you. I must admit I didn't anticipate this; I shouldn't have allowed her if I really thought there would be this much trouble. Or perhaps I would," she admitted, unable to help herself smiling rather slyly and then laughing, "I must say I was rather impressed at by the idea at first."

He looked at her very sternly. She laughed properly this time.

"I'm sure you find me very frivolous, Dr Clarkson."

"Not frivolous exactly," he followed her down the corridor to the door, "I only wonder that one of the most level-headed, sensible nurses I have worked with can be impressed by something as reckless as this!"

She smiled, both at the compliment and the rebuke.

"I suppose you'll still trust me to help at the hospital?" she enquired, rather flippantly.

He regarded her levelly- not taking her seriously for a moment- but seeming to consider how far he should humour her.

"We'll see," he played along, "Just do me the favour of trying to stop her getting up to any more circus tricks."

"Oh, I promise you, I'll draw the line when she tries to put a trapeze in my garden," she told him, with too much sincerity.

"See that you do."

He was out of the door, but he was hovering on the doorstep, still looking at her. She felt herself smiling rather devilishly.

"Dr Clarkson," she told him, "Don't worry, it's not only death-defying stunts that impress me."

Thankfully, he took it well. Or as well as she'd have expected him to take such frivolity from her. He sighed and descended the steps.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Crawley." 

…**...**

"My goodness, what has been happening to you?"

"She's been canvassing again, I expect."

Trust Violet to be present when Sybil hobbled in, supported by Matthew and followed by Isobel- looking exceptionally sombre, or at least she hoped. Cora looked exceptionally alarmed as her youngest was lowered into an armchair and Mrs Hughes- who had been hovering in the corner- came forward with a foot stool.

"We've had rather an excitable afternoon," Matthew told her, "I'm afraid it was all my fault, I really shouldn't have allowed it in the first place."

At this point, Isobel felt a surge of awareness of the fact that it had been her who had delivered the fatal push. She looked down at her shoes in self-consciousness. Unfortunately, it seemed that the housekeeper of all people noticed her. Sybil was busy assuring her mother that her ankle would make a full recovery.

"But how did you fall from the patio in the first place?" her grandmother was enquiring, "You must have been travelling at quite a speed! Unless you simply threw yourself off, of course," she turned to her daughter-in-law, "I hear they pull stunts like that, these militants." 

Isobel coughed. Heavens, she hadn't meant to push her _that _hard! And the housekeeper was still watching her. Not accusingly, but knowingly. I would never have had the temperament to be a housekeeper, Isobel thought to herself, I can't read minds for a start!

"Mrs Crawley?" the whole room looked either at Mrs Hughes or at Isobel as she spoke, "Would you care to see the roses Mr Molesley sent round for us? They're in the next room."

Wonderfully grateful for the excuse to leave- even though she suspected that she was heading towards a stern telling off from the redoubtable housekeeper- she followed Mrs Hughes out of the room and along the corridor.

"What happened?" Mrs Hughes asked, not unkindly as soon as they were shut in the neighbouring drawing room.

"Oh goodness!" Isobel found she was outstandingly relieved at the chance to confess, all thought of Mr Molesley's roses driven from her mind, "I pushed her, Mrs Hughes! I didn't think she'd fall off the patio, but she was there one minute and the next she was face down in the grass! I feel so dreadful!"

The housekeeper laid a hand on her arm, sensing that she was rather hysterical.

"I thought something like this might happen," she conceded, "You know, I found her in the servants' hall, circumnavigating the table, with most of my charges assisting her; and she told me some story about wanting to put the staff on rollerskates!"

For some reason, Isobel was a lot more disconcerted by the idea of Mrs Hughes finding her to be a frivolous accomplice in all of this, than she was of Dr Clarkson.

"I imagine you're very ashamed of me?" Isobel asked her, "I encouraged her, and then I throw her off a wall!"

Mrs Hughes gave her quite a weary look.

"No, I'm not," she replied, "I'm rather grateful that you saved me the trouble of doing so."

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